Beyond The Shadows (42 page)

Dorian was meeting with his generals in the afternoon when he felt the first twinges of madness rising.

“Enough,” he said, interrupting General Naga’s report. “Here’s what I want. Make sure our defensive positions are impregnable.
I don’t want them to even try us. Let them see our strength. In the meantime, I need better intelligence on Moburu’s numbers.
We know he has two thousand krul. How many men does he have? And where the hell is—” A vision flashed before Dorian’s eyes
of Khali herself, rising from the ground, perfect, whole, beautiful, embodied and smiling victoriously. The room had disappeared,
and only she remained, potent, a black ocean of krul rising around her.

“And where the hell is Neph Dada?” he heard a voice say. Though he couldn’t see the speaker, he knew it must be Jenine. “His
Holiness demands you find out. He’ll expect your report this evening. For now, begone.”

Dorian blinked and the vision was gone. General Naga turned back as he reached the flap of the tent. He seemed reassured to
find Dorian meeting his eye. “The queen speaks with my voice,” Dorian said. “Is that a problem, general?”

“Of course not, Your Holiness. I will report when we get word.” He bowed deeply, and left.

When the last of them was gone, Dorian let out a long breath. Jenine took his hand and he sat. “I need to use it,” Dorian
said.

“Every time you do, it’s harder to stop,” Jenine said.

She was right, but with so many armies in close proximity, Dorian needed to use his gift to make sure he didn’t trigger a
cataclysm. He’d done everything he knew to do militarily to discourage the Cenarians from attacking, but with Neph’s men and
Moburu’s nearby, there were too many factors at play for him to not try to see the futures down the roads before him.

He’d studied his gift with a Healer’s eyes, and he thought he understood why prophecy seemed easier to begin and harder to
stop now. The vir had broken open new channels everywhere throughout his Talent, and it had penetrated his prophetic gift,
too. All his magic, and now all his prophecies, passed through the tentacles of vir rather than their natural channels. Because
the vir was thicker, everything passed more freely. It was quite possible that the vir, tainted itself, was tainting Dorian’s
gift with bizarre visions like those he’d had of the Strangers and his wife pregnant with twins, but there was no help for
it now. He would stop using the vir and only use the Talent—after this.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she answered. She had a quill and parchment to write down anything he said, in case he couldn’t remember
it afterward.

Then he dove in. He tried to hold onto enough of himself to speak what he saw, but the current was too strong. He saw a Titan
rise from Black Barrow, and then he pulled downstream fifteen years to Torras Bend. There was Feir, standing at a smithy,
ordering his young apprentice to gather wood. Then Dorian was a hundred years downstream, in Trayethell, somehow magically
rebuilt, celebrating something, a vast parade working through the street. Dorian fought it, tried to throw himself back to
a time where his visions would help him. He found himself standing in the guts of Khaliras, deciding whether to take Jenine
out through the sewage chutes or try to fight their way out, everything would turn from this one choice—no, that was the past,
dammit.

“Rodnia? Nidora?” He heard the voice calling for him, but it was too distant, and he hadn’t found anything yet. There was
a whisper as it called again, and then it was lost.

Jenine drew the curtain that separated Dorian’s throne, where he was quietly mumbling, from the rest of his tent. “Dorian!”
she whispered one more time, but the king didn’t stir. She shut the curtain and said, “Come in, General Naga.” The man had
been knocking for more than a minute.

“Your Highness,” he said, coming in and looking conspicuously at the drawn curtain. “My apologies, but we’ve just had a report
from a spy. His Holiness must hear it.”

“His Holiness is not to be disturbed right now.”

“I’m afraid this requires immediate action.”

Jenine lifted her brows as if the general were perilously close to being rude. “Then deliver your report.”

General Naga hesitated, open-mouthed, as he struggled with the idea of reporting to a woman, much less a woman young enough
to be his daughter, then wisely closed his mouth. When he opened it again, it was to say, “Your Highness, our spy reports
that the Cenarians and Ceurans are planning to attack our supply lines at the city of Reigukhas. They plan to have ten thousand
men sneak away tonight under cover of darkness. The Cenarian king said—”

“The Cenarian king?” Jenine interrupted.

For an instant, General Naga seemed stricken. “Sorry, I meant, the Ceuran king said that we would think any torches we saw tonight were merely men moving between their campfires. In truth, such movement
would only be visible to us for a short section. The Cenarian queen—your pardons, Highness, I obviously am having a slight
problem adjusting to so many queens—the Cenarian queen concurred.” He swallowed nervously.

“Do you trust this spy?” Jenine asked. She didn’t know whether she more wanted Dorian to wake up instantly and make the decision
for her, or if she feared that he might wake up with a scream as he had the last few times.

“Absolutely, Your Highness.”

“If we wait until we see the movement of torches tonight, will our men be able to get to Reigukhas in time to defend it?”
Jenine asked.

“It will be a near thing.”

“Then send fifteen thousand men now. If we don’t see the torches moving tonight, we can send riders to get them to turn back.”

“Fifteen thousand? From a defensive position, five should be more than adequate to defend Reigukhas, and would still preserve
our superiority of numbers here.”

He was probably right, and Jenine would have conceded to his experience if this had been a war, but it wasn’t a war. Those
were her people on the other side, too. Fifteen thousand men would be such an overwhelming defensive force that the Cenarians
would call off an attack on the town as hopeless. Jenine was saving lives on both sides, and tomorrow, they’d be able to send
emissaries to the Cenarians before blood was spilled. “Fifteen thousand, general. That is, unless you’re still having a problem
adjusting to this queen.”

General Naga barely hesitated before he bobbed his head and withdrew. For an odd moment, Jenine thought he looked relieved.

As night fell, Logan and Garuwashi met once more at the top of the tower, this time alone, though each had bodyguards stationed
out of earshot on the stairs. They watched the line of sa’ceurai, every one bearing a torch, heading down river. Then the
kings turned, scanning the thousands of campfires dotting the plain around Black Barrow. The Khalidoran army and the highlanders
stayed outside the circle around Black Barrow that was carpeted with those oddly non-decomposing bodies. They called it the
Dead Demesne.

“Do you think it worked?” Logan asked.

“Wanhope’s a wytch, not a warrior,” Garuwashi said. “I think he’ll believe everything his spy told him we said earlier.”

In truth, Logan had sent ten thousand men west, but only until they were blocked from the Khalidorans’ sight by the forest.
Then the men were told to extinguish their torches and make their way back to camp. Logan was sure no small amount of grumbling
was going on right now: the men had no idea why they’d been sent marching in circles, and he couldn’t tell them in case more
spies lurked in their ranks. Meanwhile, Garuwashi’s thousand were continuing west. They would ford the river and come back
on the opposite side as stealthily as possible. Dressed in muddied garb, they would crawl through the Dead Demesne. When the
sun rose, they would lie in the shadows and huddle next to the corpses as if dead themselves. They would circle the long way
around Black Barrow. Garuwashi figured it would take them two nights to get into place, but then, either on his signal or
when they saw the opportunity, the men would don their armor, rise from among the dead, and attack the command tents. If Momma
K’s spies were right, Jenine was there. If not, they still might kill some of Wanhope’s generals or even the Godking himself.

It was likely a suicide mission, but there had been no lack of volunteers. But the only Cenarians going were a hundred of
Agon’s Dogs, former sneak thieves and burglars and his wytch hunters with their Ymmuri bows.

Of course, as Agon and Garuwashi kept telling Logan, timing was everything. Those thousand men were among the armies’ best.
If Wanhope did split his forces and tomorrow went as planned, Logan and Garuwashi might be close to victory. Those extra thousand
veterans could turn a Khalidoran retreat into a rout.

“The Feyuri scouts say that the Ceuran force following us is led by the Regent himself,” Garuwashi said quietly. “I will be
obliged to kill myself when he discovers I have no sword. My men will be invited to join me in suicide or return to Ceura
immediately.”

“How far back is he?” Logan asked, his throat constricting. Now he understood why Garuwashi had been so adamant that the thousand
who snuck through the Dead Demesne be sa’ceurai. It was a service to Logan. Separated from command, they wouldn’t know that
their leader had been disgraced, so they would keep fighting.

“They will arrive tomorrow night.”

“We can stop them in the passes,” Logan said. “There are narrow—”

“He has twenty thousand sa’ceurai. My men would wonder why we were fighting the Regent, who only wants to see the Blade of
Heaven. Even without him, they will expect me to lead them into battle. This is my last night.”

They turned as a man cleared his throat at the stairs. The man was nearly as big as Logan, not quite as tall, but wide as
an ox. He carried some flab, but it was only a thin layer over rock hard muscle. “Maybe not, my lord,” Feir said, dipping
his head. “I don’t suppose either of you has a big ruby?”

They looked at each other, and Logan saw a thin, desperate hope in Lantano Garuwashi’s eyes. He knew then that this man would
kill himself in a heartbeat if he needed to, but there was nothing in Lantano Garuwashi that desired death.

“No?” Feir asked. “Damn. Well, I hope we can find someone who’s good with illusions.” The big man stepped forward and unwrapped
a bundle to produce a sword. “My lord, I present you with Ceur’caelestos.”

Vi and three hundred of the fittest war magae made it through the eastern fork of the pass an hour before dawn. Sadly, fittest
wasn’t the same as most Talented. The journey had taken longer than anyone had expected. Ushering eight thousand women—most
of them middle-aged and every single one more than willing to share her opinion—through the mountains had been a nightmare.
Most of the rest would arrive sometime during the day, but a sizable number wouldn’t arrive until the next day, or the day
after that. Even with bodies that appeared decades younger than their years, eighty- and ninety-year-olds were simply not
going to hurry. Vi thought that if she never saw another woman in her life, she’d count herself lucky.

After some bickering with sentries that had ended when Vi lifted both men off the ground with her Talent and shook them, Vi
was brought directly to King Gyre. He was among his men, reassuring them with his presence, and as Vi approached, he was cinching
the leathers of a young horseman’s pauldrons. Vi cleared her throat and Logan turned.

Vi had heard of Logan Gyre, of course, but seeing him was altogether different. He was perhaps the tallest man she’d ever
seen, and perfectly proportioned. In his white enameled plate armor, gilded with a gyrfalcon with wingtips breaking a circle,
he was the perfect picture of an energetic young king at war. He was muscular, his carriage erect, and though he walked with
the knowledge that eyes were on him, he didn’t seem to revel in it. There was also something odd about his right forearm.
It seemed brighter than the other, somehow. “My lady,” he said, nodding. “Is there something I can do for you?”

She stopped staring. “I’m Vi Sovari of the Chantry. I bring three hundred magae, and seven thousand more by tomorrow. We have
come to help you.”

“Thank you, I dare say we will have need of healers, but so many . . .”

“Your Majesty, we’re war magae.”

“War magae.” The king’s eyes widened.

“We have withdrawn from the Accords, that we may help you.”

He scrubbed a hand through his blond hair. “This changes things. . . .  They may have two thousand meisters, two hundred Vürdmeisters
among them. We have ten magi. How can you help me?”

“Two thousand?” Vi despaired. “If they bring two thousand meisters against us before the rest of my Sisters arrive, we’ll
be worm food in an hour.”

“I may have drawn off half of them. How long could you and your three hundred hold out against a thousand?”

“We might make it, and some of the Sisters should arrive during the day. My war magae are mostly good at defensive magic,
Your Majesty.”

“Good, then I want half of you to hold Black Bridge and the dam. Spread the others out through the lines.” A messenger trotted
up and Logan held up a finger, forestalling the man. “Oh, and thank you, Sister. Your aid is desperately needed and greatly
appreciated. I hope to speak more with you this evening.”

“You’re welcome, and . . .  Your Majesty, I know you were a friend of Kylar’s. He’ll be here.”

Logan got a strange look on his face. “Yes,” he said, “I’m sure he shall.”

Vi was stationed with a hundred and fifty of her Sisters at Black Bridge, almost in the shadow of the great dam, when she
realized what that look meant. Logan thought Vi meant Kylar would be here in spirit. Logan still thought Kylar was dead. Stupid, Vi, stupid.

Logan and Garuwashi were astride their mounts in the Great Market as the first rays of dawn revealed the God-king’s armies
arrayed across from their own. “They fell for it,” he said. “They must have sent fifteen thousand men to Reigukhas. Last night,
they had six thousand more men than we did. Now they have ten thousand less.”

Lantano Garuwashi grinned. “Only two things can undo us now.”

“Magic?”

“And young men so drunk on glory they forget their discipline,” Garuwashi said.

“So when do we attack?” Logan asked.

“Right now.”

*     *     *

It was still dark in the royal tent. Dorian ran a hand over Jenine’s bare shoulder, down her back, and over her hip. Her beauty
made him ache. He shouldn’t have brought her here. It was too dangerous in too many ways. She wasn’t asleep, but she feigned
it for him. She knew how he enjoyed her. He inhaled the scent of her hair once more and sat up. He began dressing.

“That army is Cenarian,” Jenine said in the darkness. “Those are my people.”

“Yes,” Dorian said.

“How do I find myself in my enemy’s camp, my lord?”

“Have you ever wondered what would happen if someone threw a war and nobody came?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have no intention of killing any Cenarians,” Dorian said, “though I understand why they won’t believe that. We’re here
only to destroy Neph and Moburu. At dawn our emissaries will let the Cenarians know that we will not attack, but I don’t think
we have to worry about them. They’ve already taken a defensive position, as have we. They’ll stay until they see us withdraw,
and then they’ll go home.”

Jenine stood, and Dorian couldn’t help but glory in her beauty. The familiar panic-edged desire swept over him. He wanted
to grab her and make love frantically, right now, as if he might never have a chance to again. But it was almost dawn, there
were things he needed to do.

“My people are aggrieved at your father’s predations, and that savage Lantano Garuwashi is with them. They say he bathes in
blood. What will we do if they attack? I will be our emissary,” Jenine said. “They will believe me.”

“No!” Dorian said.

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“They will not attack a woman approaching under flag of parley. Besides, better a hazard to me than to forty thousand lives.”

“It’s not that,” Dorian said, thinking furiously. “Your presence might precipitate war, my love. What will Terah Graesin do—even
under a flag of parley, if she sees you alive? Your life would be the death of all her power. People will do horrible things
to keep what they love, Jenine.” The fact was, if he sent Jenine to Logan, the threat of Cenarian attack would end in one
second—and so would his marriage.

Unless . . .  what if Jenine chose him? She’d barely known Logan. What Dorian had built with her was . . .  real? It’s built on a lie. Oh, Solon, what would you say if you could see me now?

“You’re right, my lord husband. I just wish there were something I could do.”

Dorian kissed her. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.” He stepped through the tent flap and saw a young man sweating, obviously
bearing a message for him, and obviously too afraid to wake a Godking. “What is it?” Wanhope demanded.

“Your Holiness. The warchief wishes me to tell you that the attack on Reigukhas was a ruse. Our spies were wrong. The Cenarians
outnumber us by more than ten thousand now, and . . .  Your Holiness, they’re attacking.”